For All The Things That Are
by anonymouth
Summary: ...Have Been, And Will Be Again. Miranda writes a letter to Andrea, thinking that she will never read it. But somehow, Andy writes back.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Usual, innit...I do not own TDWP, any characters etc, don't sue just because I enjoy them as they should be, thank you!

**Miranda Priestly just utterly refuses to leave me alone, seriously, she is becoming an obsession. Who am I to fight it, though! Hope you enjoy, please review x**

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For All The Things That Are, Have Been, And Will Be Again.

I don't apologise Andrea. Don't take this at face value; it does not mean that I don't think them; that I don't try to make up for things in other ways; or that I don't have regrets. It has always been a common misconception that because I don't entertain this rule of etiquette I am cold and unfeeling. You are one of the very few people, Andrea, that has even come close to realising that what I do not say is the most important thing. However, it is not enough, is it? To think that you know, without actually ever hearing it confirmed. I try, Andrea. My girls, of course, have heard me apologise. Too many times, actually. My husbands do not really count; apologies mostly died on my lips.

When I had to, as you put it, "do Nigel out of his fucking dream job" I spent months bending over backwards to get him a better position. No one knew the work that went into it, not even you. All everyone saw was another _Runway _employee branching out, fulfilling the prophecy of the world being one's oyster after tenure beneath me. That was my apology, Andrea, even though it doesn't count in the eyes of the world – in your eyes – because I am the only one that knows it. I didn't actually say the words. I am 'The One' though, the Fashion Queen herself, so my thoughts are the only ones that should count, right?

I do know that for you, this will never suffice, this substitution of actions and words. However, it is who I am; it's what makes me the best at what I do. No one can do this job like me. At some point, people always let guilt override better judgement. Guilt is my constant companion, purely because I never give in to it. If I did, the magazine would suffer, and that is not acceptable.

I know that you think the magazine – my professional life – should not transfer to my personal life. You have yet to fully accept what my ex-husbands eventually realised, just before they left; that my personal and professional lives are intrinsically entwined. To give in to guilt in my personal life – perhaps to allow a whole weekend devoted to my children, my husbands...you, without any interruptions – would ultimately mean some part of my business would suffer. What is it called? Not Karma, nor The Butterfly Effect. Ying and Yang, perhaps. I realise that the balance is entirely unequal.

When my husbands divorced me, they cited 'irreconcilable differences'. The twins' father has since confessed that he thought of citing adultery, seeing as I was quite clearly married to _Runway. "_Miranda Priestly is suppressing an eye roll" would have been my Facebook status. Yes, I do know everything, Andrea. Obviously I wasn't married to _Runway_, but my husband was rarely my first priority. Nor my second once the girls came along.

I suppose some people would see it as selfish, this constant drive and ambition to stay at the top. I know some say that it is to the detriment of my family, using my divorces as testament to this. I know you think it more and more. But the fact is I have two well-rounded, if mischievous girls who know that they are loved and want for nothing. That is all I craved growing up. I cannot allow myself to entertain the thought that I am a bad mother. Of course I have doubts, as does every mother. But if I let doubts and guilt override the knowledge that I love my children above all else, then they would suffer and that would be the most unacceptable, saddening thing. That is not to say that I don't feel bad about not spending time with them sometimes. But I make it to all their school functions – except one, as you may recall, Andrea – I know all of their friends and activities and their sometimes daily changing likes and dislikes. I spend as much time with them as my job allows, like a lot of parents, but I am fortunate enough to be able to arrange my job around them on occasion. Many cannot say the same. I do sincerely apologise to them on occasions when this is not possible. They are the exception, not the rule.

I felt the loss of my first husband, but a lot of it was on behalf of our girls. I felt guilt, but not regret. Perhaps it was guilt at my lack of regret. I could not think 'what if' or 'if only' because to think that would be akin to thinking that I had done wrong by working my hardest at work, and I knew that to be untrue. Ying and Yang; completely entwined.  
I put up no fight in the divorce proceedings; I kept the townhouse for the girls; he our holiday homes and art collection that we had built up together. Not much, one may think, but it was the only way of apology. I could have made the divorce quite hellish for him quite easily. Stephen, I allowed access to the girls, should they want it. I would never wish to deprive my children, but I could have shut him out of our lives completely. I am not heartless, even when I wish to hurt people who have hurt me. I suppose that is the only crucial difference between home and work, though many would doubt it.

The point is, Andrea...the point is...the point is, you would have left eventually. An older, more bitter version of the innocent little reporter that came looking for a job five years ago. You would have realised then, all at once, that you had lost your friends, family, morals and dreams. You would have wilted, Andrea; become my biggest disappointment of all.

I realise that you have walked away thinking that I no longer give you a second thought. What you do not know, will never know, is that I remember every encounter; every touch; every word. I remember the times that you have laughed, but most prominent are the times that you have cried, especially because of me. When you came to me yesterday, I knew what you were going to say. I had been expecting it for some time. I had taken steps to ensure that you would, eventually, cut your career as my assistant short. I am sure there is no need for me to list them here. Still, it came as somewhat of a surprise that I felt a sense of sadness when I realised what you were going to say. What came as more of a surprise was that, when I thought about it, I didn't actually want you to go. However it is for the best, Andrea. For you. For _Runway._

You will not realise that I have lied to you, Andrea. That when you asked me if you were ever a serious part of my life; if I would miss you, even, it took all of the willpower I have ever garnered to say no. Of course I shall miss you; I have found myself daydreaming through run-throughs because of you, and actively seeking your input, something that you know I do not do with mere assistants. I would love to have you in my life forever, but for that to happen, inevitably, we would end up hating each other, which makes this whole sentence an oxymoron. An impossibility that I will add to the others.

I will endeavour to help your career be as successful as possible, in the hope that this will make you happy. Of course, I will do my best to avoid any unnecessary meetings; as I have already stated, I am not heartless. My apology, the only thing I can give you, with the sincere hope that you move on and blossom in a way that you could never around me.

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**This was going to be a one-shot, but now I feel greedy...I'm thinking maybe an Andy** **reply...what do you think? xx**


	2. Chapter 2

_**Well, Andy got the letter...hope I've done ok, I find it harder to get into Andy's head than Miranda's. Let me know, then perhaps Miranda will write again!**_

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** 30-09-10**

Dear Miranda,

I hope you bring yourself to read this, though a part of me hopes that you don't. The part of me, I think, that remembers being your assistant, and fearing for my life and my employ should I inadvertently make a mistake. Some poor Emily obviously passed on your letter thinking that she'd finally mastered the art of reading your mind, and will inevitably find, in due course, that she read it completely wrong. Of course, if you hadn't have written my name on the envelope and left it on your desk then she would not have had to worry herself half to death in her attempt to get the letter to this mysterious 'Andrea'. I hope you remember this before you worry her other half to death, but somehow I think that that is a fruitless hope. I shall just remain thankful that she is obviously not quite as adept as I became at attaining and maintaining your standards of perfection.

Not to blow my own trumpet but I think I managed to recognise what you wanted, or did not want, quite well even before you said it. Some days were exhausting, but for the most part, I didn't have to try very hard at this. Once I stopped thinking of the job as a stop gap, I wanted to do my very utter best. I know that is all that you strive for.

I realise by now, if you are even still reading, that you are rolling your eyes – inwardly, I know – and thinking something along the lines of 'get to the point'. That has never been my strong point. I like waffle, but I will try and quell my natural tendency to do it.

You are right, in a way, in that your substitution of actions for words will never be enough for me. As for the rest, however, I am afraid to inform you that you are, for once, wrong.

Forgive me. This is difficult, more so because I actually intend that you read this. Considering that I am now actively pursuing a career in journalism, my loss of adequate words and conciseness is shameful. How about I just dive straight in? I've always been quite good at that.

I realised what you were doing for quite some time. Working for you has, at least, put paid to my never ending naïveté. I realised that you were taking steps to get rid of me, and a part of me realised why, but then another part was so desperate, so despondent to think that you cared so little for me after all. I hadn't dared actually verbalise...whatever I felt was growing between us, but I was convinced that you felt the same. I couldn't imagine why you'd want to stop it. I think I get it now, or I at least understand your reasoning. That's not to say that I accept it, nor accept that your reasoning is accurate.

I understand why you make the decisions that you have to make, although you would be right in assuming that sometimes they are hard to accept. I know how hard you work, because however long your staff are at work, I know you can sometimes easily double it. I know that you have no room for error, or failure, because that would mean handing someone else an opportunity to twist the knife. I know you need this "hard ass bitch" reputation in order to stay at the top. To be the best. How good is it at the top, Miranda? I noticed that over the last year, you heart seemed to be elsewhere. Perhaps guilt has finally become the companion that you most wish to divorce? Forgive me if I am too forward.

I am not the rest of the world, Miranda. Nor am I anything like your ex-husbands, or even your children. Guilt. I know that you never give in to it, except perhaps on those occasions when the girls become the first in their school to have iPods, or private sky diving lessons or...unpublished manuscripts or some such thing. As you said, I am aware that they are, have always been, the exception and not the rule. I know that that is what keeps you the best at what you do; there is no need to explain this to me, Miranda. I have understood, since my first Paris Fashion Week, in that hotel suite when Stephen (forgive this, but The Bastard) rang. Business and personal, for you, is intrinsically entwined. There is no other way. I see that, have seen it for the whole five years that I worked for you, and I neither ask for nor expect any apology for it. I know that your girls will always come first, but that they also exist alongside the priorities at _Runway._ Sometimes, yes, the balance is unequal, but as with all things in life, nothing can be perfect.

I do not think that your drive and ambition at _Runway_ is to the detriment of your family. The girls are accepting, and they, I think, are the only family that you have ever considered important. I do not know, for I haven't ever had reason to speak to them, and the short discussions we had never really revealed too much, but I can hazard a guess that your husbands fell in love with you; the powerful, enigmatic, enticing Miranda Priestly; thought that they had managed to charm you, to seduce you; thought that, once caught, you would become theirs, their trophy; that you would change, for them; I doubt if they realised that you were the one that charmed, that seduced, and had no intention of ever being anyone's trophy wife. I assume that they couldn't deal with the fact that you would forever be more famous – perhaps not more successful, as success is relative to one's chosen path – and content in your role. It makes me a little sad that you place me in the same category as them. I would never expect an apology because you were simply trying to do your best, and would always relish watching you shine; whether you accept that or not, believe that I believe it.

My point is, Miranda, that you have pushed me away thinking not that I would have left eventually, but thinking that I would have left hating you. You let your feelings become involved, and that's how I knew even before I read your letter, that when I asked you if you cared for me, if you would even miss me, I knew that the 'no' was a lie. I knew you needed to get rid of me, before you thought you would let your feelings override your better judgement.

I know that this fear comes with the guilt; the fear of letting anyone close, and the fear that anyone close will leave. I wouldn't have left you, Miranda. The job, perhaps, but that wasn't meant to be forever. You...I wouldn't have left you, unless you had sincerely wanted me too.

I am glad that you remember the times I laughed, because I was genuinely happy. Try to forget the times I cried; for the most part, the tears were because I wanted to help you, to do anything possible to make your life easier. I didn't want to disappoint. Perhaps, though, you are right on one point. Perhaps I would have wilted; perhaps this drive that I have to do my best, be my best for you, would have consumed my life until I realised that, actually, I no longer had one. That is on a professional level Miranda. Personally, I would love to have you in my life; personally, there would be no oxymoron.

I know that you have endeavoured to make my journalism career as smooth as possible, and for that I thank you, as I am not unhappy. Happiness...happiness is relative; my happiness, I think, is relative to the time I spent with you. I hope you do not go out of your way to avoid me, Miranda (though if questioned under pain of death, I promise never to admit that you would do such a thing anyway); this would be the worst type of apology you could offer, as the happiness that faded to not unhappy I think would quickly fade again, and not blossom as you seem to so adamantly believe.

All my love, whether you accept it or not,

Andrea

P.S. Andrea "Andy" Sachs would love to be your friend on Facebook.


	3. Chapter 3

**8-10-10**

Andrea,

There are a dozen Miranda Priestly's on Facebook, most of whom appear to be Spanish and male, or role playing. I suggest that you not befriend them, though do not assume that I am attempting to dominate your life once more. Just merely paying a warning to your obviously heightened sense of self-preservation.

As you know – and yes, I am assuming here that you have not lost all contact with the real world – Paris Fashion Week has just ended. God, what a disaster. I mean, really, is it too much to ask that when one is invited to show in _the _Fashion event of the year, that one can display at least a modicum of talent? At this point, I would even settle for an inventive rehash of past collections. Honestly...sometimes...well, sometimes I despair.

The first day, some brainless incompetent had scheduled in a show that entailed getting wet, and I mean, wet, Andrea. Can you imagine? It was...well...anyhow, the mood rapidly descended from there. There was a certain piece that allowed my lips to unfurl at one point; a Greek style dress by Louis Vuitton. Cerulean. You remember the history of Cerulean? Perhaps you still have that hideous jumper; can fish it out now that the colour is making a comeback...you can be _Andy_ once again; perhaps you are already, pretending that the fashion world doesn't have any influence on you, just like before.

However, seeing as you profess to know me so well, you probably know that I digress. Stalling, I believe some call it. For I don't...I don't know exactly _why _I am even entertaining the thought of writing to you, again. We - you and I - cannot exist, Andrea. You say that personally, you would love to have me in your life, but as I explained, in my life there is no distinction between personal and professional, and as much as you say now that you neither expect nor want an apology for it; time would change your mind. You have an intrinsically beautiful nature, Andrea. I would have destroyed it, in the end. So for as much as you say you understand, understanding does not equal acceptance, and I don't want to see you leave my life twice.

But, as I owe you at least my honesty, I will answer your question. You are right, in that my heart has not been completely _Runway's_ for a while now. But it is something I cannot give up, for what would I be without it? Miranda Priestly, former editor-in-chief. Hard ass bitch. I need more to my name, Andrea, and that is why I stay at the top, regardless of how lonely and unforgiving it is.

Miranda.


	4. Chapter 4

**12-10-10**

Miranda Priestly,

I very rarely say this to people who aren't Emily, but you need to get a grip and take your head out of your ass.

How dare you tell me what I can and cannot do, feel and think?

You presume far more than I ever have, and, I could argue, that your naivety far surpasses my own. I never said that I did not accept _you_, and everything that comes with you. I have accepted since I put on my first pair of Chanel slingbacks. I merely stated that I did not accept your reasoning for pushing me away, because it's borne of your own fear, not a knowledge of my reactions.

That's not to say that I don't question, but that's just because I'm naturally nosy, and I actually want to understand you better. Not every question is a judgement, Miranda.

You are many things without _Runway_, because for all that you have poured into it, I think that there are parts of yourself that you have always kept well hidden, for fear of losing yourself altogether. I have seen it in your eyes; the way that you look at your children; the way that, sometimes, you would look at me, when I was looking at you, too.

You do not have it in you to destroy me, Miranda, because I would never be the person that would require you to.

I am Andrea. Andy. And perhaps I am not influenced as much by the fashion world anymore, but that doesn't mean that I hold it - hold _you _- in any less regard. And you have not met anyone like me before, regardless of what you may think. I wish you could put your presumptions and your hang ups and your self-flagellation aside just long enough to let me show you what you could have.

I don't want to live my life in regret, Miranda; looking back at all the 'what ifs' and 'maybes'. I don't have much to offer you, except myself and my honesty, but I had hoped that it would be enough. I miss you. And I know that you miss me too. I don't want you to regret anymore, either.

Take a chance, trust a hope.

All my love,

Andrea.


	5. Chapter 5

**13-10-10**

Andrea,

Perhaps...perhaps I do not want you to be my biggest disappointment.

I do not know what I can give you; and I have doubts, as you know. But for you, Andrea...for you, I would try anything, I think. Perhaps that is what scares me most of all.

Admit this to anyone and I will deny all knowledge. I know I do not have to tell you this, but a lifetime of habit and disappointment is hard to change in a single letter. It is one of the many things that those close to me have had to contend with, and as history proves, they haven't dealt with it well. I want to hope, Andrea, but I do not want to place my faith in fantasy. It crumbles, in the end.

That said...dinner? Your pleasure. By all means try to prove me wrong. Contrary to the widespread belief that I do not indulge in fruitless argument, I do love a good debate, even if I am, naturally, always right.

My schedule is free Friday.

Miranda.


	6. Chapter 6

**14-10-10**

Miranda,

The things you do not say are sometimes the most obvious, and the things that actually need saying. _You_ are not going to disappoint _me_, Miranda. I am not a clacker.

Of course, you are always right. Except when you are wrong. Naturally, it would be against my nature to gloat so I will keep this to myself when it is proven. That said, I do so love cashing in my winnings.

Dinner would be delightful. I shall pick you up. 7.30.

Love,

Andrea.

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**Merry Christmas everyone...thank you for the great reviews, and the story alerts, though a few words to accompany it wouldn't be unwelcome :)**

**Have a good one, and hopefully I shall update again soon...if you want, that is...**

**xx**


	7. Chapter 7

**19-10-10**

Miranda,

This is the only way I can think of communicating with you now; all my phone calls and attempts to see you have been thwarted. Thwarted. The word makes me think of fairytale stories; the evil characters plots to destroy the good; the brave, foolish knight trying to rescue the damsel, who actually isn't in all that much distress. Funny things, words. The dual meaning behind some; or rather the dual meaning certain words can have when communicated with a certain facial expression or tone. And the simple bluntness of some words that leave no more room for interpretation. And sometimes, the lack of words that speak louder than any of them ever could. Funny things.

Before you stop reading, I just want to say that I am sorry, with all my heart for the hurt you felt at dinner.

I don't have the option of telling you this face to face; all I can hope is that the words I write now can hold as much meaning to you as they do to me, without you looking into my eyes to believe them. Perhaps, because of everything I have just pondered, it is a good thing. Perhaps, face to face, you would find some hidden - dare I say nonexistent - emotion that would convince you of my deceit, not because it was present, but because you are who you are and because of the things that have partly made you what you are. I can only hope that you keep reading this, that you give my words a chance, because they are _my _words, Miranda, and they are my heart.

The night before we went to dinner, I was so excited. You had actually agreed to meet me; to give this 'us' thing a chance. A few hours before we were to meet, I was a nervous wreck. I couldn't decide what to wear, how to do my make-up, what to do with my hair, but it was not because I was meeting the revered Miranda Priestly, fashion icon; not because I had to be impeccable for Miranda Priestly, fashion icon. It was because I was meeting you, Miranda, and I wanted to look nice, to feel nice for you. The way that you make me feel nice. And when I saw you and you smiled what was to me the biggest, warmest smile I have ever seen (though to others it may have looked like the merest hint of an upward turn) I couldn't have cared less if I had turned up in my ten-year-old polyester pajamas with scraped back three-day old hair. Because that smile wasn't for Andrea Sachs assistant extraordinaire (don't interrupt) who always had to be impeccable. That smile was for simply me, from simply you, and I cherish it.

I know you must have felt nervous; perhaps even a little scared. Miranda Priestly, after all, doesn't do casual dinners. I will admit to you that it was hard, at first, negotiating the conversation; but not for the reasons that you think. I was not - am not - scared of you; merely scared of how you will react to me. When you admitted that even your dates with your husbands came to seem just like business arrangements...a compromise, or a show of attention to stave off bigger issues, I wanted to tell you that I understood; that it doesn't make you evil, or heartless. I wanted to tell you that it was because you weren't happy, that they didn't understand you. But if I had, I know you would have shut down, and so it was best to just let you talk. I needed - still need - you to be comfortable with me. I know that it takes time, but for that to happen you actually have to give it a chance.

Miranda, when you mentioned age, and I began to laugh, I wasn't laughing at you. Please, please bear with me while I try to explain. I laughed because of the way that you described us; "cute and fluffy versus tough as old boots". I laughed because the phrase was just so..ludicrous. The act of thinking before I speak and act does normally abandon me at very inappropriate moments, and so it took me a few moments to realise what you must have been thinking. I told you that I was in no way cute and fluffy, but because I hadn't thought to say that you weren't tough as old boots, you took that to mean that I thought it true. It didn't even register then that the comment would have stuck in your mind. Not until you mentioned something about your hair, and I laughed again. I realised when I got home, well after you had walked out, that it had been a test; to see what I would do. But Miranda, please, it was the what you said and the way that you said it that was funny, not any sort of truth behind the comment.

I find you extraordinarily beautiful, always have and I daresay always will. I can't even begin to tell you how beautiful I think you are without resorting to every trashy romance novel cliché going. But it's so much more than what I see, Miranda; more than what everyone else sees. I'm not out to hurt you; in fact, what makes you so bloody sure that I don't think that you're out to hurt me? I want to laugh _with _you; _at _things; I want to make you laugh. I want to be the one that I know you're thinking about when your eyes are full of happiness; or longing; far away and dreamy; or the person that keeps you grounded when your world is flying about your ears. I want to be a part of your world, your life Miranda, but I'm not settling for an elevated assistant role; being treated to lunch when you can fit me in, and then having to watch my every move and word in case you are too busy analyzing, waiting for any reason to flee. I didn't have you pegged as a coward. I would sincerely, dearly love to hear from you, Miranda, but if you are going to reply blaming me for your early departure; blaming me for being insensitive like everyone else, no doubt stating the many differences between us, then I would rather you didn't. I would rather endure the silence than hear you use me as a cover for your own insecurities and demons.

I would dearly love it if you let me in, as I can assure you that it would not be much of a chance to take, for you have already, somehow, found your way inside of me, and to hurt you would be to tear myself to shreds. Let me in, because I know that I have fallen in love with you, and I believe you could do the same with me.

Or perhaps...well, I can only apologise if I have totally misread your actions/intentions, and I won't bother you again. But I won't apologise for loving you, Miranda. I can't.

Andrea.

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**Sorry for the long delay in updating; I think I know where it's ending and it won't be much more now but may take a little while longer to update due to the manic amount of deadlines I have coming up!**

**Thanks again for the reviews, alerts etc, they really mean a lot. Hope you like this one :)**


	8. Chapter 8

**22-10-10**

Dear Andrea,

I am sorry. I remember writing, the first time that I do not apologise. That I do to my girls, but they are the exception, not the rule. I have lived my life by these rules for so long, that it is...more than difficult to accept that, perhaps, some call for revision.

You are right in that my lack of words have usually spoken louder than any I have actually verbalised. But you are also right - and I know you have enough perception to realise how difficult this is to admit - in that I did - do - feel nervous and scared.

Because...God, Andrea, because you have somehow wormed your way under my skin, into my thoughts and I find myself wanting to let you in, like I have not done with anyone before.

The moment that I saw you at dinner and you smiled, my smile became natural, not the forced one that I have always had to resort to, and when we sat, I had a moment where my life; the here, the now, the past, and the future, all flashed before my eyes and I realised that...I am not good enough for you. You are a nice person, Andrea, so...naturally beautiful. Yes, I want to smile with you, laugh with you, generally spend time with you, but I became plagued by these visions. I have never been good enough. Not personally. What if...what if I let you in, and you don't like what you see? What if I open up, and you do laugh at me?

I know I became what you think was...irrational. But to me, it is not about rational, or irrational, but reality. It has happened before. And I can't let...it hurts my girls. When people leave. And it would hurt me, to lose you.

I have all of these conflicting feelings that I don't know what to do with. I have always been the one to cause these feelings, not be the reciprocant. I have lived my life in this way for so long that I dont know if I can accept change myself without ending up hurting you, or pushing you away and I don't think I could live with myself should that happen.

You haven't misread anything, Andrea; but this...us...I don't even know myself how to just...be...especially with you, because I do accept now that you don't want anything from me except me, which is something of a novelty. It scares me, truly, because I cannot give you anything except myself, and that has never been enough. You amaze me, Andrea.

And I think I could have fallen in love with you.


	9. Chapter 9

**27-10-10**

Dear Mom,

Don't freak. I mean, you will freak, but we won't be around, so please don't ground us or anything when we get back, because we're only trying to help. Face it, you need it.

Thing is, we - Cassidy and I (our English tutor says 'me and Cass' is no longer acceptable, except Cass keeps trying to argue that it should be her name first then it's ok) - sort of found the letters that Andy's sent to you, and so when we talked to her, we got her to tell us what you'd said back, and basically we thought someone better do something before you completely mess up (sorry.)

We're like grown up now, Mom, and we realise that you don't mean to hurt us when you marry and split up and stuff. We think you rush into it, because marriage makes you seem normal, and you think it's good for us to have normal, but I mean really, what is normal? (I could go into detail, because we've just done an assignment on it, but I won't because you'll go all rolly-eyed and won't even get to the end of this before you 'glare and ground'.) There's no such thing, anyway.

And we think you're perfect just the way you are, without any men. Well, not perfect, because nobody can be that, but you're good, and nice, and very very beautiful. And I know we scream at you sometimes, and we hurt you, but it's because we just want to see more of you without you stressing that we hate you all the time. Something like a vicious cirlcle of behaviour I think (really, our tutor is more like a therapist).

Anyway, all of this is besides the point. The point is that Andy really really likes you, she thinks she may be in love with you, but she says that she's done all she can except for dance across rooftops with a big banner naked. We said we didn't think you'd appreciate that. She says she knows you're being stubborn but you are an adult and at the end of the day you make your own choices.

We know you don't feel as though you have a choice, or that you are choosing not to pursue a relationship because you think she deserves better, but honestly, Mom, you have got to get a grip. You have been an absolute nightmare recently, and if we're noticing I can only imagine what you're like at work. Cass caught Emily coming through the door on her hands and knees the other day so she didn't make any noise at all. We know it's because you really like Andy, probably in love with her, and we just don't get how you avoiding her is the best solution; you're unhappy, she's unhappy, half the Elias-Clarke building are unhappy...and we're unhappy too.

We want you to be happy, like you never were with Stephen, or even Dad. And the whole gay thing...I mean, totally not a problem. Andy's cool.

Seriously, Mom, while we're away, will you just, like, write to her, or go and see her, or something? Dance across rooftops with a big banner naked. She'd like that. Can't say we would very much. She's good for you...she told you to take your head out of your ass and we remember the day you got that letter you didn't stop smiling! Point is, we don't care how you do it, Mom, but do it, otherwise we're moving in with Dad and giving you actual reason to wallow depressingly rather than all the...um...(I suppose I'm soo grounded if I say bullshit? Ok,) ridiculous things you have in your head right now.

We love you, Mom.

Caroline & Cassidy

(p.s. Can we submit this letter for English homework? I think parts of it are really eloquent. Cass will say she thought of them, but we're twins. We've got the whole twinny-vibe so technically I thought it, too. And then if we get a good grade, and you get Andy, it's a win-win and nobody has to get grounded :))

xx

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**Do they help? Does Miranda listen? Is this any good? Review please!**


	10. Chapter 10

**01-11-10**

_The Daily Northwestern: Today's feature_

An interview with Andy Sachs, local girl hitting the big time in the big city.

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Q: Have there been times where you thought that the dream would never become reality?

...yes, I became disillusioned at times. I moved to New York with this grand dream of being snapped up; of meeting a prolific editor and them being so amazed by my portfolio that they immediately snapped me up and offered me the most lucrative and meaty positions. Truth is, reality isn't like that. That wasn't a dream so much as a fantasy; in reality, you have to take what is offered and make the best of it, until you can mould situations to make them ideal for you, or mould yourself into situations. Your dream, ultimately, has to be about creating your own reality and being comfortable within it.

Q: Would you say that you are comfortable within your reality now? And how did you reach this point of your life? As you mentioned earlier, a tenure at _Runway _fashion magazine wasn't ever on your list of 'to-do's'...

A: No...no it wasn't. Basically, I arrived in New York and pretty much immediately realised that it wasn't going to happen the way that I had envisioned in my head. I applied for jobs everywhere, and when I was contacted about the _Runway _job, it was either that or head back home. And I knew I could make it, if I only had a chance somewhere.

People told me that if you worked a year at _Runway_, it pretty much guaranteed you a promotion to your ideal placement. So when I was accepted, I saw it as a means to an end; a necessary, evil stepping stone if you like. I had never read beauty magazines; didn't set much store in fashion. I almost despised the whole industry; I thought that it was there to make ordinary people like me feel ugly. But the longer I was there, the more I realised how self-absorbed and delusional I was. I had no idea how many people not only worked in fashion, but built their lives around it. To quote someone who has become a great friend, I only deigned to work where others would die to work; had no idea how many great people were known in the world because of that publication, and what was worse was, at the time, I didn't care. I thought everything was about me; was disappointed that the editor hadn't yet even thanked me for my work!

It took a while, but suddenly I found this clarity of mind; I wanted to be noticed, wanted to be someone and yet all I was doing was complaining about the lack. So I changed that; _Runway _was never even on my radar, but I threw myself into my job completely, and through that, I have ended up where I am now. A job - any job - could hold the key to your dreams, so it's always best to...well, do your best. Because more importantly than impressing others, you'll have self-worth. So yes, that makes me quite comfortable with my current professional reality.

Q: You mentioned briefly the lack of acknowledgment from _Runway's _editor-in-chief. Tell us, how did you manage five years as the iconic Miranda Priestly's assistant? Is she really the devil incarnate?

A: My first meeting with Miranda didn't go particularly well, and it went rather downhill from there for a while. As I mentioned, I was quite self-absorbed, and I bought into the general consensus that she was utterly unreasonable. I think at my lowest I thought she was borderline sociopathic! But the longer I worked there, and certainly after I threw myself more into the work, I realised that Miranda Priestly...Miranda is so dedicated to making _Runway _the best that it can be, that she does not accept anything less than perfection, from anyone on any level. But - and it took me a while to realise this, too - she's not unreasonable, because unreasonable would imply that she expects people to do things that she herself never would. Anything Miranda asks of anyone she works with, she knows she would be able to accomplish herself, and she can easily match the amount of hours any of us worked - still work - there. She doesn't demand perfection so much as merely expect people to do their very best; to immerse themselves completely into their jobs, because she can't see the point of _not_. People don't spend sixty dollars on ingredients for a fine meal then only half cook it, so why spend your life working at something if your heart's not completely in it?

Yes, working for her was hard, and sometimes exhausting, but I can honestly say that without her, I would not be the person that I am. I would not be as intuitive, as creative, and ultimately I would not have as much respect for myself and others that I have now. If you do your best for Miranda, she will do her best for you, in her own inimitable way. Miranda Priestly is no angel; but she is not a monster, either. I think too many people are too quick to judge, like I once was.

Q: So, the moral of your story is...

A: To have the courage to stick by your beliefs, your dreams, but to not be disappointed when they are tested, and found lacking. To be open to change, and new experiences, and to throw yourself into any commitment you make 100 percent, otherwise you will never know if there is something vitally important that you have missed. To not live your life thinking 'I could have' or 'I wish I'd', but to think, 'well, at least I tried.' With anything.


	11. Chapter 11

**03-11-10**

Dear Andrea,

Your seemingly smooth insertion into every aspect of my life would be abhorrent, if it weren't for the fact that it is...well..._you. _You do have your own...inimitable charm, shall we say?

I have had good assistants before, but since you, I cannot recall their names, only that their faces pale into insignificance when compared to yours. You could go down in the _Runway _hall of fame as a mythical character; I still hear people talk about you now, as if you had been somehow trained in the classical art of dragon taming.  
Perhaps you have been. Or at the very least became a quick study; anticipating the dragons movements before she made them; dousing the fire before there was even smoke. This does not mean that you are an angel by any means, Andrea. But you...you are no monster, either.

I never found your dreams lacking; merely the child-like innocence that led you to believe they would be handed to you on a plate. Everyone should keep hold of their dreams, Andrea; even if they are sometimes wild, sometimes so shocking that you wonder if you shouldn't stay safely buried in the cocoon that you have already wrapped nicely around you.

Your interview made me realise that, with everything in my life I have always given at least 100 percent, but that now, with you, I am not even attempting an initial sketch. If I were prone to self-indulgent bouts of self-therapy, I would say that I have become those people that I despise; those who judge me without knowing anything about me. I have already written you out of my life, because I am The Dragon Lady; The Devil Incarnate; and I will end up hurting you. I have already written the outcome before having even allowed an introduction, based on previous events of my life and not on the fact that I am Miranda Priestly and I always see perfection through to the end.

You wear your heart on your sleeve, Andrea, and I am fearful for it. Why do you think that designers do not incorporate this notion into their designs? It would only get ruined. Anyway, I think that the best course of action to prevent your heart being damaged in this precarious position is to allow me to look after it. After all, you yourself stated in your interview that you do owe me rather a lot and it would be a shame to have had a hand in cultivating a talent like yours only for you to recklessly throw it away by hurting the thing that makes you so special. I realise that I have spent five years with you in my life and what would be the point of those five years, of acknowledging the feelings between us now and knowing that I have slowly been loosing my heart to you, if I were not to at least try to spend the rest of my life throwing myself into you completely?

I understand if this comes too late; if my blatant wallowing in bullshit has ruined our chance. Miranda Priestly may not accept less than perfection, but she is pinning her hope on the fact that Andrea Sachs is not so unyielding.

You may wonder at my language. It seems that even Caroline and Cassidy have gotten involved in making sure that there is no escape from you, and were quite...vocal...in their disapproval of my reactions thus far. They are currently on a school trip abroad, but when they return, should they speak to you first, which knowing them I am almost sure they will - I have no doubt that they will want to continue your presence in their lives, and regardless of what may or may not happen between us, I hope that you will be gentle with them - assure them that no, I did not 'freak'; their grammar and elocution needs work; and despite this, they are indeed grounded.

I hope that you are still of the mindset that one should always try, with anything in life. I live on hope, and in this instance, I may even pray for it, too. And should it pay off...well, I can offer you a meal cooked thoroughly with ingredients that have a monetary value to match their exquisiteness.

All my love,

Miranda.


	12. Chapter 12: Epilogue

**05-11-11**

Dear Miranda,

Happy one year anniversary. It's Bonfire Night in the UK...as the name would suggest they have big bonfires and have amazing fireworks displays, all to celebrate the fact that a guy (named Guy) centuries ago tried and failed to blow up the Houses of Parliament. I thought it pretty symbolic, but I know by now that you have snorted softly, rolled your eyes and yet you are continuing to indulge me by reading on with what is sure to be now a rather cute beginning of a smile on your face.

I thought it only fitting that I stick to my 'unoriginality' and write you a letter; not that words can ever cover how I feel about you, but there is something intrinsically beautiful about the handwritten word, do you not think?

I kept all your letters to me. Not to remember that you were an utter pain in the ass, but in case I ever forget how precious you are. Though if I should ever forget that it will obviously be some sort of debilitating medical condition that I cannot help.

I remember thinking, when I received your last letter, _Thank God, Welcome back Miranda._ I was so afraid that you would let all of your insecurities come between us and not even allow us a chance, and I couldn't even tell you that that is what you were doing because you had to realise for yourself. I am so glad that you did. And it wasn't - still isn't - that I wanted you to be confident, self-assured and in control all of the time, it was just that when you weren't, I wanted it to be when you could climb into bed with me and I could wrap myself around you and make everything ok. Idealistic, I know, but don't tell me that sometimes it isn't all you crave at the end of the day, because I distinctly remember you saying different on numerous occasions. And as for the meal, cooked thoroughly with exquisite ingredients that have a price tag to match? I'd say it's tender in the right places, constantly surprising me with hidden depths, and well worth everything invested in it, and I would dearly love to continue enjoying it for a long time.

I love you, Miranda Priestly. I am so in love with you that...well, to quote you, it's disgusting. We are so disgusting together. I love the way you walk, talk, the way you move when you dance, when you climb into bed...when you climb onto me. I love everything about you, even the things that infuriate me. I could live for a hundred years and never meet anyone like you again, but more than that, I would never want to.

You are extraordinarily beautiful, Miranda, inside and out (much like me, you agree?), and I am so grateful every single day that you chose to share that with me.

I am going to stop gushing now, because you have actually laughed out loud which I'm sure has given Emily some sort of nervous breakdown. You are also blushing.

How do I know this? Because I hand delivered this letter, and I have been waiting in your en-suite for you to open it. I am spying on you through the crack in the door.

Of course, if you have been doing neither of these things and have merely skimmed over my loving and thought-provoking words, then completely disregard that last sentence. I would ask you in this instance to vacate the office so that my deflated ego and myself can exit discreetly.

Aha. I knew it; you've looked at me now. That's definitely a smile. Rather predatory, wouldn't you say? Why are you still standing over there, then? Although you know how I very much love it when you move at a glacial pace...stop reading...I love you...

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**Finished! I hope I managed to keep it marginally realistic all the way through; I'm still wondering whether I should have left it a one-shot. But...thanks to everyone for the story alerts, favourites etc but most of all to everyone that has reviewed. It really means a lot, thank you! :)**


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